


Pom-Bears

by Azile_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:02:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3095831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azile_Teacup/pseuds/Azile_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: amnesia</p><p>Arthur goes shopping on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pom-Bears

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: past head trauma, confusion, amnesia

When Arthur walks into Tesco, he looks sure of himself. The people who notice him move out of his way because he seems purposeful, his movement towards the fruit and veg section doesn’t hesitate, the people clustered around the lettuce smile at him, ready to move if he wants their spot. Instead, he starts rooting through his pockets. He drops the basket he has and turns on the spot, eyes going distant and confused, turning his pockets inside out, rifling through his wallet, even checking inside the casing of his phone.

 

“Bugger,” he says.

 

The woman beside him has her daughter with her and she glares as hard as she can. She’s worked hard to keep the child from learning words like that, and that someone would be so thoughtless and crass makes her want to take her child home and wrap her in bubble wrap. It’s just another indication of how dreadful the world is. Arthur doesn’t notice, too busy putting everything carefully away.

 

“Never mind,” he says to himself, “I can do it without the list.”

 

When he picks up the basket and moves away, all the surety has gone. His movements are a little jerky and his head has gone down, and he pauses at every box of produce to examine things, picking them up and putting them down again. The people around him stop noticing him and moving out of the way for him and he gets jostled. The woman with the child tugs the little girl away towards the yoghurt.

 

“Mamma, what was wrong with that man?” the girl asks.

 

“Hush. Do not repeat what you heard him say. Not ever. It’s a very bad, evil word.”

 

Arthur shuffles around the produce section for about ten minutes before deciding, putting a sack of oranges and a single potato in his basket and moving on to the cheese and meats. The employee checking the fruit salads for date of use watches him with a frown, wondering what’s wrong with this one. They get all the freaky ones in, especially around the holidays.

 

Arthur wanders for half an hour, selecting a strange mixture of foods from the shelves around him. Babybells, blue cheese, a packet of incredibly expensive ham, a packet of incredibly cheap frozen chicken cutlets, a tin of pineapple, two tins of spaghetti ‘o’s, a baguette, a bag of rolls, two loaves of bread, apple juice, a microwavable meal of macaroni cheese, a packet of refrigerated eclairs, and three ready-made sandwiches with a low calorie count. Then he stands in front of the crisps and zones out on the colourful packaging.

 

The employee in this section is kinder than his colleague in fruit and vegetables, and after Arthur’s stood there for nearly twenty minutes without doing anything or moving, John finishes putting out the nuts and stacks the empty boxes out of the way, moving across to Arthur’s side.

 

“Can I help, sir?” John asks.

 

Arthur tilts his head to one side and slowly drags his eyes away from the picture of teddy-bear crisps.

 

“Hello,” Arthur says, “I’m sorry, should I know you?”

 

“No, sir. I just work here. I wondered if you needed some help?” John says.

 

“Oh, no. Thank you. I’m… I’m shopping,” Arthur says, and beams with pride.

 

“I can see that.”

 

John looks at the basket on the floor between them, the slowly defrosting chicken, the eclairs which are upside down and buried beneath the juice, the microwave meal which has ended up overflowing and landed face down on the floor, along with two of the sandwiches.

 

“Only, I… I was looking at these pictures, and I forgot… am I… are we in Sainsburys? I think I’m lost.”

 

“We’re in Tesco. Are you with someone?”

 

“I’m usually with Merlin,” Arthur says, with certainty, but then he frowns, “but I don’t think I am with Merlin, I think I’m with someone else.”

 

“Alright, can you remember who that might be?”

 

Arthur smiles.

 

“Oh yes, there is a list. It might be Gwenevere, or Percy, or Gwaine, or…” Arthur pauses and his smile softens, eyes glazing a little bit, “or Leon. Maybe I’m with Leon?”

 

John looks around, spots no one who looks worried and decides to make an announcement to see if anyone shows up.

 

“Okay,” John says, “how about you come with me and we’ll make a call, see if anyone comes to collect you?”

 

“I can call, I can call,” Arthur says, getting agitated, “I shouldn’t move when I’m lost, I’m not to go anywhere. Not _anywhere_. Because I walked off and got hit by a bike, once. And that was not at all good.”

 

“No, I suppose it wasn’t.”

 

“I have a phone, though, so I can ring Merlin.”

 

Arthur pulls out his phone and turns it on, pressing the buttons carefully, then holds it to his ear. John decides to wait it out, check the guy’s okay, before leaving him alone.

 

“Hello Merlin!” Arthur says, happy to hear Merlin’s voice.

 

Merlin, on the other end of the phone, sits up and frowns.

 

“Arthur? Is this Arthur?” Merlin says.

 

“Of course I’m Arthur. Who else would I be?”

 

“My caller ID says- never mind. Why are you calling me?”

 

“I am lost. Totally and completely. There’s a nice man here who says I should go with him, but I think I should stay put and you can come find me.”

 

“Right. Arthur, do you remember,” Merlin pauses and rubs a hand over his face, looking hopelessly at Gwaine, and trails off.

 

“What is it?” Gwaine asks, rubbing Merlin’s back.

 

“I remember very little right now,” Arthur says, sounding miserable and scared, “I don’t even know where I am.”

 

“Alright,” Merlin says, “that’s… that’s okay. I’ll send Leon to fetch you, yeah?”

 

“Leon,” Arthur says, mulling it over, “no, no. Merlin, you can come and get me, yes?”

 

Merlin bites his lip.

 

“I think Leon-“

 

“No! Not Leon, _not_ Leon!” Arthur says, turning and bumping into a shelf, tears starting in his eyes. He stumbles backwards and sits on the eclairs, “I fell over.”

 

“Alright, alright. I’m coming. You said someone wanted you to go with them?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Let me talk to them, so I can find you.”

 

Arthur smiles up at John and holds the phone out to him. John takes it, wondering if he’s going to have to make Arthur pay for his ruined shopping and hoping he doesn’t. Sometimes he hates his job.

 

“Hi, I’m John, I’m here with a blonde guy who seems to be in some distress?”

 

Although, Arthur’s now leaning against the shelf and has gotten a packet of Pom-Bears in his arms and seems quite content.

 

“I’ll come get him,” Merlin says, “Just tell me where.”

 

John takes Arthur back to the staff room, letting him keep hold of the bears, and talks to his supervisor so he can sit with Arthur until Merlin arrives and so Arthur doesn’t have to pay for his shopping. Arthur starts to shiver after ten minutes, eyes going heavy.

 

“John?” Arthur says.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“My head hurts.”

 

John sighs and goes to put the vending machine and uses his staff badge to get one of his free cups of tea and brings it back to Arthur.

 

“Drink this. It’s un-caffeinated and fruity,” John says.

 

Arthur takes little sips, careful not to spill any, and then puts it on the table in front of him and pillow his head on his arm, still clutching the crisps. John watches him, noticing the slightly thinner patch of hair, catching the thread of scar tissue underneath that wasn’t noticeable except under close inspection and wonders what happened to him. Arthur wonders the same, sometimes. He remembers being quick and clever and daring, and then he remembers being slow and stupid and worried, but he doesn’t know what lead from one to the other.

 

Merlin knows. Merlin shows up half an hour later, lead by another employee, tired and worried and wishing he could be curled up on the sofa with Gwaine still. He spots Arthur and closes his eyes, sadness washing over him. It’s been a long time since they were together, long before the accident, but Merlin still sometimes wonders what the hell happened between the two of them to destroy it. Arthur looks up, feeling Merlin close, and smiles at him.

 

“Hi,” Merlin says, “thanks for this. He’s supposed to have a medi-bracelet when he goes out and he’s supposed to carry a notebook with him that will tell him what he’s doing and who to call and things like that. I don’t know what’s going on, I’ll take him home. Is there anything he owes you?”

 

“Not if you can get him to let go of the Pom-Bears,” John says, “no problem, he’s kind of sweet.”

 

Merlin laughs, hauling Arthur to his feet. Arthur kisses Merlin’s cheek and leans into his side, laughing too.

 

“I’m very annoying,” Arthur explains to John, “but that’s okay. Merlin sorts things out for me.”

 

“Give the nice man his crisps, Arthur,” Merlin says.

 

Arthur looks down at the bright red packet with the pictures. He’s loath to let it go, it was comforting when Merlin wasn’t there. Familiar.

 

“Did we eat these, sometimes?” Arthur asks, “we ate these sometimes.”

 

“Yes, but you don’t like them,” Merlin says.

 

“Yes I do,” Arthur says, sure of it.

 

He gives them to John, though. He knows Merlin’s lying, but he’s not a hundred percent certain of that. He holds Merlin’s hand on the way out to the car, just in case he forgets something or loses himself again. Once he’s installed in the passenger seat he sighs in relief.

 

“Thanks,” Arthur says, when Merlin climbs in.

 

“No problem.”

 

Arthur hums. Now that he’s away from all the people, away from being jostled and bumped and surrounded, the panic and uncertainty that shut down his mind lift. He still isn’t sure where he is or what’s going on, but he does remember that Merlin is the wrong person to call.

 

“I took Gwaine’s phone,” Arthur explains, “when you guys came over. I don’t really know why. You’re number is the speed dial, instead of Leon’s.”

 

“And you forgot. It’s okay. I’m happy to come fish you out of your disasters, I always was. We were friends first and still will be, right?”

 

“Yes. Merlin?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What happened between us? I don’t remember and no one will tell me. Did I mess it up?”

 

Merlin stares out of the windshield for a bit, pretending distraction to buy himself some time. He will have to tell Arthur eventually, though, and the small space of the car is intimate and controlled, comfortable.

 

“It was both of us. We were so young, and so sure we were in love for ever. After uni we tried to live together, and it was wonderful, for a year.”

 

“I remember that.”

 

“And then we both needed to focus on work, on building careers, and it turned out we wanted different lives. I think we could have made it work, but we were so young. We didn’t talk, didn’t compromise, started to resent one another for wanting different things. And it just… fell apart. I left.”

 

“I remember you leaving.”

 

“I want children, and you never have. I want a family, a quiet life, I want someone…” Merlin smiles, thinking of Gwaine, “I want someone who’ll be there when I get home, who’s willing to create that home and help keep it, invest in it. Someone who can compromise their career to focus on us, who’ll want to have children with me one day. It took me a long, long time to stop wanting all that with you.”

 

“It’s funny, I could probably do that, now. Now that I’m Stupid-Arthur.”

 

Merlin laughs. He can’t help it, because Arthur sounds so earnest. Arthur covers the hurt of being laughed at because he doesn’t know why Merlin is laughing.

 

“Sorry mate, but you’re not stupid, and you still don’t want kids. And you’re definitely not a home-body. You like being busy, doing things, working.”

 

Arthur shrugs. He does like working. He likes it when Leon lets him go to the office with him and make everyone tea and take important papers to important people. He likes volunteering with Oxfam, working in the book shop, at the homeless shelter. He likes getting a pay cheque for doing one day a week at the garden centre near their house. He likes children a bit better now he’s older, but he definitely doesn’t want his own. Merlin pulls up in the forecourt of their hours and kills the engine, smiling at Arthur.

 

“Shall I take you to the doorstep?”

 

“Maybe you better had.”

 

The front door opens and Leon shakes his head at Arthur, looking amused and frustrated. Arthur goes to him, wrapping his arms around Leon’s neck, the familiar warmth and smell intoxicating. Leon hugs him back and closes his eyes in relief.

 

“Thank you, Merlin,” Leon says.

 

“No problem. He has Gwaine’s phone, though. We’ve been looking for that for ages. Apparently he lifted it when we came to dinner.”

 

Leon searches Arthur’s pockets and gives the phone back. And finds Arthur’s shopping list. It has only one item on it; oranges for Leon. Arthur’s writing is still disjointed, too big, but he’s done it. He made a list and went to the supermarket all on his own. Even if Leon wishes he’d accept his limits and not done such a stupid thing, he’s kind of proud of him for trying. And he’s planning on having a long conversation about how he is never, ever to try again.

 

Arthur knows that conversation is coming so he clings to Leon, in the hopes of forestalling it.

 

“Let me go so we can get inside. Did you at least get oranges?” Leon asks, waving to Merlin and dragging Arthur in so he can close the door.

 

Arthur gives him a bewildered, tired look and Leon shakes his head, can’t help laughing, feeling along the scar on Arthur’s scalp and kissing his forehead.

 

“I did put oranges in the basket,” Arthur says, “but there were too many people and my brain shut down. I think I sat on some eclairs.”

 

Leon examines Arthur’s bum to see and does indeed find the remains of cream and chocolate. He helps Arthur undo the button so he can get out of them and then Arthur goes and lies down on the sofa. He’s pale and the crinkle in his forehead means his head’s painful and he looks so tired. Leon sits on the floor by his head and cards through his hair, leaning close.

 

“I love you, even if you are a total idiot,” Leon says, “thank you for trying. Please don’t do that again? I was scared, when I got home and you weren’t here.”

 

“I got lost,” Arthur says, and now that he’s home the tears come, “I couldn’t remember where I was or who to call and I didn’t take my book and…”

 

Arthur trails off, a wave of grief swamping him, making the tears jerk out of his chest. He presses close to Leon, who kneels up so Arthur has a bit of jumper to sob into, and rubs Arthur’s shoulders, massages his neck, soothes him. Leon pulls the blanket off the back of the sofa over Arthur and then pulls away, climbing on with him, holding on to him. Arthur breathes out in relief and cries out his fear and misery from the night.


End file.
